


I won't relieve this love

by Alkarinque



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Arafinwean Week 2019, Gen, Loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:02:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alkarinque/pseuds/Alkarinque
Summary: Brother and sisters; father and mother; children and wife - where had they all gone?





	I won't relieve this love

**Author's Note:**

> This is (lately) written for Arafinwean week on tumblr. I finished it just now before I posted it, so mistakes are possible. The title comes from Sia's 'My Love', which was the sole soundtrack for this drabble (seriously, I listened on repeat).
> 
> And yeah, I've written about the relationships between parents and children before and I'm continuing that streak, though this one is like ... only angst. 
> 
> I headcanon that it took a while before Eärwen even stepped foot in Tirion, despite that none of Finarfin's people took part in the kinslaying, so that's why Finarfin is all alone ... Also I headcanon that they had a bit of a crisis in their marriage and lived apart, so there's that.

“Brother? Where are you?” Arafinwë called as loud as he, a small elfling, could.

His call echoed through empty, long halls of marble. 

“Nolofinwë?” he called again, and when silence once again answered he changed tactics: “Findis? Are you here?”

Nothing. The white corridors stretched before him, identic and cold and filled with ringing silence.

He thought of calling for Indis - she always came for him, when no one else did, didn’t she? - but stopped himself. He may be an elfling, but he would not be the scared child calling for his mother whenever he was troubled. 

_ Findis would never do that,  _ he thought, thinking of his older sister; strong and proud and wise Findis. She always made Finwë smile that small, precious smile when they sat for dinner, that smile no one else could. Their father always said how proud he was - of her, of Nolofinwë, of Arafinwë. So did Indis, but she said it so often it barely mattered. 

_ Nolofinwë would never call for help, either,  _ Arafinwë thought.

Yet the silence ate at him and the corridors seemed to never end from where he stood. He looked up and indeed even the roof was far away, like Varda’s ancient stars to Yavanna’s fresh, dark earth. Except Arafinwë did not feel like the fields of grain outside Tirion, which stretched like the sea to the horizon. He felt more like the weak dandelion which would soon be ready to disperse itself to become little more than an empty stem. And he was alone.

“Nolo?” he called out again and his voice sounded so weak and small that he winced. 

Where did they go? Where was mother’s strong voice and hands, ready to tangle through his hair so alike to her own, and braid it so thickly it bumped against his back when he ran to meet Nolofinwë and Findis in the garden when they came back from their lessons? Or his father, with his tales and games, like when he hid in the maze and Arafinwë had to find him? It was never like this - Arafinwë never felt lonely when he played that game. It was so easy to feel his father there - his warm presence and surety and his laughter. 

Now it all felt cold.

“Mother? Father? I can’t find you!” he at last cried out one last time.

Where were his brother and sisters? Where did they go? 

_ Did they leave me behind? _

“Findaráto, Angaráto, Ambaráto, Artanis”, Arafinwë recited quietly to himself.

He was wandering the palace’s halls. It was dark outside, with only the so called moon in the sky, casting its weak over Tirion and its towers and streets. The corridors rang empty as in his dream, except for his steps and low murmurs. 

“Findaráto, Angaráto, Ambaráto, Artanis … “

With each name, he tried to remember them - grown but young and strong. He tried so hard it hurt:

Findaráto’s smiling a wide smile which brought out his small dimples and made his eyes crinkle when Amairë said something and pushed a bouquet of flowers in his arms. Angaráto’s confident smirk as he lounged on a divan after a hunting trip, stretching his long body and sighing contently at the same time. Ambaráto’s smoothed out face as he lay sleeping in Olwë’s garden under a scrawny silver-tree in Telperion’s light on a hot summer’s day. Artanis running down the beach, far ahead of her siblings, hair streaming around her and spreading its illuminous light, face red from the exercise yet eyes shining with laughter. 

“Findaráto, Angaráto, Ambaráto, Artanis, Findaráto, Angaráto … “

His children … They faded from his memories like stones slowly sinking through the water - He felt them slipping like sand through fingers; like fog spreading and hindering his sight; like running in the maze and losing the trail of his father’s voice. 

What exact colour did Findaráto’s eyes have? Had Angaráto’s voice really sounded so sharp or had it been softer and kinder? Had Ambaráto’s hands been rough or smooth as Arafinwë took his hand to help him up? How had Artanis’ smelled as she reached and embraced him on the beach, telling him hastily and proudly of her victory?

“Findaráto, Angaráto, Ambaráto, Artanis … “

His voice broke and he stopped in the middle of a corridor. He felt a painful lump in his throat, and his eyes burned from unshed tears. He rubbed his eyes and temples and felt a distant pain growing at his temples and in his heart. It was familiar. He looked up and around him. The white halls rang as silent as they had in his dream. 

That felt familiar too, now.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the little drabble! I hope it brought you pain! 'Cause it did for me writing it!!!! :))
> 
> Leave a kudos or perhaps even a comment, if you're feeling generous!


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